


A Saloon Filled With Spirits

by Fox_Salz



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Drinking, Excessive Drinking, Ghosts, M/M, Past Abuse, Strangulation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Salz/pseuds/Fox_Salz
Summary: Rick and Stan, two wanted men, stumble on a ghost town--literally. It's filled with old, unfriendly faces, and one ghost in particular demands a drinking challenge. If Rick doesn't win Stan joins him in death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Finally time to post this thing! One of my stories for the stanchez micro-bang. Honestly both these fandoms need more old west material and I'm happy to oblige.
> 
> All the amazing artwork found throughout is by the wonderfully talented Shitshow McGee and you can find her tumblr here: http://shitshow-mcgee.tumblr.com

The mostly untamed west was not a forgiving place. Even the places that some would call tamed weren’t forgiving—though Stan considered ‘settled’ and ‘tamed’ two vastly different states.

 

Stan and Rick had been riding for days now through the scorching desert. Their horses were exhausted, they were exhausted, and they were out of both water and booze. Thankfully, just below this ridge, was a town. If they were lucky no one would recognize them. Maybe there wouldn’t even be any of their wanted posters hanging around.

 

With the sun setting behind them the pair started down.

 

“Any idea what town this is?” Stan asked. “I don’t think it’s on the map.”

 

“It’s not,” Rick confirmed. “Probably something that just popped up.”

 

“Strange to find a place out here. And I didn’t see any signs of life from up there. It seems kinda…I dunno, spooky.”

 

Rick, who had been irritable ever since he started sobering up, snapped, “J-just be glad we found someplace before we died in the goddamn desert.”

 

Sure Rick couldn’t see, Stan rolled his eyes. He loved the guy, but Rick’s moods could get tiresome. Especially in the unrelenting heat. Still, by this point he’d learned how to handle the other man.

 

Stan brought his horse forward and leaned over as far as he could without falling off. After pecking Rick on the cheek he asked, “Did I tell you today how gorgeous your eyes are? I mean it—you’re the only oasis I need.”

 

“Sap,” Rick said, urging his horse ahead, but not so fast that Stan didn’t catch his smile.

Night was beginning to settle in when they reached the town. There was a sign hanging, presumably with the town’s name though it was too dark to make it out. They dismounted and led the horses down the quiet street. There were no lights but the stars above, and not a single soul but theirs.

 

Even the saloon, usually a town’s most inviting place to men like them, seemed deserted. But there was water in the well, so Rick tied their horses to the post while Stan pumped it out.

 

“Might as well go inside,” Rick said, walking up the porch steps.

 

Stan was only a step behind as Rick flung open the saloon doors. It was as deserted inside as it was out. Dark, too. Rick reached into his jacket and took out one of his science doohickies that Stan didn’t quite understand or have a name for. It was a small orb that emitted a soft blue glow. Rick pressed a button on its top and it floated around them.

 

“Yeesh, look at this dump,” Stan commented, surveying the room.

 

There were broken chairs and tables littering the floor; few were intact. Everything was coated with dust. Rick went over to the bar and ran a finger over the counter. The grime was so thick that there was still a layer of dirt left where he had touched it.

 

Stan walked around the tables, and right into a spiderweb. He sputtered and spat it out, hands flying up to frantically wipe it away. Stan backed up and tripped over a downed chair. With an _oof_ he tumbled back to the entrance.

 

“If y-you’re done being a one man vaudeville act, come help me.”

 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Stan grumbled, pushing himself up.

 

“Want me to kiss it all better, Lee?” Rick teased.

 

“Well, if you’re offering.”

 

Grinning, Stan sauntered over to the bar and pushed Rick up against it. He put one hand on the counter and the other on the small of Rick’s back, pinning him.

 

“Where’s it hurt?” Rick asked, leaning over and nipping his neck.

 

Stan moaned. “Everywhere. You have a lot of kissing to do.”

 

Rick got started. He pressed his mouth to any inch of skin he could reach—which admittedly wasn’t much.

 

“You know, Lee, I can’t do anything if y-you don’t let up.”

 

“Hey, I figure we have all night, considering this is a ghost town. It’s just you and me, and I like where you are right now, so…” Stan trailed off, grinding his hips suggestively against Rick.

 

Rick smirked at the feel of Stan’s obvious erection. They could be dying in the sun and he could still get the horny bastard all riled up. 

 

“You like booze, too, and I’m pretty sure this place has some.”

 

Stan pulled back, eyes twinkling. “You think?”

 

“F-fucking better.”

 

Gleefully Stan stepped aside and they hopped over the counter. Rick whistled, and the little orb darted to them, illuminating the numerous bottles around them. Sure enough some were intact—and even better, full.

 

They didn’t bother with the filthy glasses, each grabbing a bottle and clanking them together. With twin “cheers, motherfucker!” they threw back their heads and relished the burn.

 

“I suddenly hate everything a lot, a lot less,” Rick commented happily.

 

“Good to hear.” Stan pressed him against the counter again. “Now where were we?”

 

Rick threw his arms around Stan’s neck, tequila bottle thudding gently between his shoulder blades. Lazily he trailed kisses along his partner’s jaw. Stan was right—they had all night.

 

Stan’s hands started to roam, and soon stray fingers were undoing the buttons down Rick’s shirt. He raked his nails across the newly exposed flesh, making Rick moan against his skin. Then Stan scratched his nipple and Rick bit down on his collarbone.

 

Throwing back his head Stan let out a curse halfway between pleasure and pain. Rick gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, smirking. A smart remark was on the tip of his tongue, but it died when he sensed something was… _off_.

 

At first he couldn’t place it, but then he realized that the lamps scattered around the room were now lit.

 

“Lee.”

 

His tone put Stan on instant alert. He noticed the flames, too, and furrowed his brow.

 

“What the hell?”

 

Suddenly light surged through the saloon, and the little orb fell lifelessly to the ground. Stan straightened, pushing Rick behind him.

 

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

 

Heavy footsteps echoed through the saloon. They could hear spurs clinking with every thud, but couldn’t spot a single soul.

 

Then human forms started to take shape. Some manifested near the tables, a few sitting in upright chairs. A piano player appeared on his bench, a saloon girl next to him with her head turned away. 

 

But the apparition that caught Stan’s eye was a looming, muscled cowboy in the middle of the room. The sight of him made Stan’s breath hitch. He stood apart from the others, an air of cool danger radiating from him. His eyes glowed red and bored holes into Stan’s skull.

 

Barely able to believe what was before him Stan whispered, “Jimmy?”

 

The ghost smirked. “Glad you remember me, kitten.”

 

“But you’re dead. You were hanged!”

 

“You should have been.”

 

Jimmy snapped his fingers and suddenly cold hands were grasping Stan’s arms and pulling him away from Rick. Struggle as he might he couldn’t break free. Rick made a move towards him.

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jimmy admonished, halting Rick in his tracks. “Not so fast, buckaroo. I wouldn’t do anything hasty if I were you.”

 

“And who th-the _fuck_ are you?”

 

Jimmy snickered. Rick’s fingers twitched near the gun at his side, eager to wipe the smug look off the other man’s face.

 

“You don’t talk about me, Stanley? I’m hurt.”

 

“The past should stay dead,” Stan spat. He grunted as his captor squeezed inhumanly tight.

 

“Trust me, kitten, I’d love to,” Jimmy admitted, coming over to the bar.

 

He circled Stan, languidly looking him up and down like he was trying to find all the differences since they’d been apart. Chuckling he played with the straps on Stan’s hat, then knocked it off his head. Jimmy reached for his face, smirking as his prisoner flinched away from him.

 

“D-don’t touch what’s mine,” Rick growled, taking a defensive step towards his partner.

 

Jimmy fixed him with a steely eyed glare. Voice low he said, “I’ll touch what’s mine all I damn well please.”

 

“Jimmy,” Stan interjected, casting a pleading look to Rick that he hoped would be understood: don’t antagonize this guy.

 

“What is it, kitten? Something on your mind?”

 

“How are you here?”

 

“After my execution I found myself still roaming around. See, it turns out when a fella—or lady, excuse me, Marilyn.”

 

Stan’s eyes widened, and he tried to crane his head back to catch a glimpse of the saloon girl. Jimmy whistled, however, and Stan’s eyes snapped back to him. Rick frowned at the immediate obedience, and the look on his face he was all too familiar with: that certain type of fear a person could only get form someone who took great pleasure in reigning over them.

 

“Glad to see you haven’t fully forgotten me, kid. Now, can I finish my story?” Stan nodded. “Good boy. Now, as I was saying, if a person dies with a lot of hate in their heart they can will their spirit to stay tethered to this world. Meaning they got one last shot at revenge.” Stan shivered; Jimmy had leaned in close, his breath unnaturally chill against Stan’s face.

 

“Jimmy, I didn’t betray you, you know that. You hav’ta! Rico sold us both out.”

 

“But you got away.”

 

Stan gulped and pleaded, “Let Rick go. I’m begging ya, Jimmy, do whatever you want with me, just leave Rick alone. He’s innocent.”

 

Jimmy straightened, a terrifyingly gleeful glint in his fiery eyes.

 

“Oh mark my words, kitten, I have plans for you. But ain’t no man innocent who sides with you.” A devious grin broke out across his face as he turned back to Rick. “Seeing my little kitten again, though, has put me in a generous mood. So how about a little game?”

 

Rick eyed him wearily. “What k-kind of game?”

 

“You look like you know how to bend the elbow, buckaroo, so how about if you out drink me I’ll let Stanley go?”

 

“Deal,” Rick agreed without hesitation.

 

“Are you crazy? How can you out drink someone who’s dead?”

 

Stan struggled against his captor harder than before but the specter held on tight. Jimmy grabbed his chin, stilling him and forcing Stan to focus on him.

 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, kitten. Even the dead have limits.”

 

Rick let out a loud belch that drew Jimmy’s attention. “I don’t. Let’s play, asshole.”

 

Rick brushed past the ghost, grinning at Stan who couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“Get him, babe!”

 

“Fuck, _urp_ , yeah I will. Oh, and by the way, gringo, it’s pronounced _vaquero_.”

 

The other ghosts backed away as Rick approached a table. Using his foot he nudged one of the chairs onto its legs, purposefully ignoring them all. He plopped down and stared at the dead man, expression obnoxiously lax as he leaned back in his seat.

 

He caught the brief scowl on Jimmy’s face before it morphed into idle amusement. he stalked over to the table where another spirit hurriedly brought him a chair. Jimmy sat across from Rick, one arm on the table, and whistled.

 

The saloon girl, Marilyn, reluctantly got to her feet and went to the bar, feet clanking tersely against the wood. She bent down to rummage around the bottles, intentionally looking anywhere but Stan. He watched her with despondent eyes, looking like he wanted to say something to her but unsure what. Rick couldn’t help wondering about the story there.

 

Marilyn settled on a whiskey and brought it over along with two shot glasses. Rick noted the crack in his. After she poured their poison both he and Jimmy lifted their glasses, met each other’s gaze, and swallowed the drink. Jimmy finished a fraction of a second quicker, slamming the glass back down; its thunk filled the saloon.

 

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick as he held out the glass. Marilyn refilled it then Rick’s. Again they knocked the shots back. This time Rick finished first, letting out a loud belch.

 

They matched each other drink for drink. The other spirits crowded around the pair, no one breathing a single word as they watched the game transfixed.

 

The piano man started playing a simple ditty, something light and unobtrusive. It sounded saturnine to Stan and he cringed, the tune filling him with old memories he’d been trying to forget. 

 

Stan couldn’t stand to watch the drinking; his bottom lip was already bleeding from where he’d worried it raw. Instead he focused on the blonde calico he hadn’t even known was dead. She kept her back to him, but Stan didn’t miss the brief glances she occasionally casted his way. He didn’t turn away from her. 

 

Eventually their eyes met and she held his gaze. Her nose wrinkled, just like it always did when she had something heavy on her mind. Stan flashed her a toothy grin like she used to love, and her face softened.

 

Marilyn handed the nearly empty bottle off to another specter and came his way. There were so many emotions plain on her face that Stan had trouble discerning them all. Above everything else, though, was a deep melancholy that made Stan’s chest tighten.

 

“Been a while, huh?” he ventured.

 

“A long while”

 

“So you’re a ghost now, yeah? Or do you prefer living dead?”

 

“Either way.”

 

These matter-of-fact, simplistic responses were starting to make Stan nervous. It wasn’t like his Marilyn at all. 

 

“Who are all these other guys?” Stan wondered.

 

“Just some mindless posse Jimmy formed waiting for you. Good for taking orders, but can’t think too well for themselves. Known too many men like that.”

 

Stanley frowned. “What happened to you?”

 

She shook her head and told him, “Backed the wrong horse. Story of my life.”

 

She let out a humorless chuckle that tore at Stan’s heart even more.

 

“You looking for revenge too? That why you’re over here with Jimmy of all people? You hated this guy!”

 

“I envied him for what he had,” Marilyn snapped, startling him. Quieter she added, “You.”

 

“Ah, Mar…”

 

“And no, I’m not looking for revenge. After I died I didn’t know what to do. Then I found Jimmy, and here I am. And here you are.”

 

“Here we are,” Stan agreed.

 

Marilyn tossed a callous glare over her shoulder. “Here you are with some other _bandito_. Better hope he can hold his liquor, because I can tell you that what Jimmy has planned ain’t pretty, Stanley.”

 

“I have full faith in Rick.”

 

Marilyn scowled and jabbed him in the chest, her long nails digging into his rib cage. His innocuous reply had apparently ignited a fire inside her.

 

“First you leave me for Jimmy, then don’t even come back after he’s gone. Instead you follow around another wanted man who’ll never treat you as good as I did.”

 

“You don’t know Rick, Marilyn. He’s not perfect, I’d never pretend that, but he doesn’t just use me like everyone else. He actually likes having me around.”

 

“Is that what you think I was doing? Using you?”

 

“Well what else do you call it?” Stan growled. “Everything about me you critiqued, always trying to get me to do things how you wanted them done. I was your muscles, nothing more.”

 

Marilyn visibly deflated. “Oh, Stanley, I never—”

 

“Save it, toots.”

 

Stan turned away from her. Marilyn reached out for him again, but then there was a holler for more alcohol and she faltered. With one last forlorn look at Stan she grabbed another bottle and brought it to the table.

 

Rick had consumed an inhuman amount of alcohol. Each drop buzzed in his veins pleasantly. 

 

Actually he was about to fall over and puke—but that wouldn’t keep him from another shot.

 

Jimmy, likewise, was swaying in his seat. Apparently ghosts did have a limit. Who would have thought?

 

Maybe it was all the booze he’d consumed, a likely possibility, but every so often it almost looked like Jimmy’s face was distorting. It made Rick think of someone hiding behind a veil that flapped in the wind, occasionally revealing the real face beneath. It was gone in an instant, however, and Rick didn’t get a good look.

 

“Y-y-you, _urp_ , you look like shit, Jimmy boy. Maybe instead of this tarantula juice we oughta fix you some Arbuckle’s.”

 

Jimmy scowled at the taunt and shoved his shot glass at Marilyn. Lightning quick Rick mimicked him.

 

They managed two more shots before Jimmy’s glass slipped out of his grasp. It fell to the floor with a clatter that echoed throughout the place. The whole saloon stilled.

 

Then Stan burst into laughter.

 

“Great job, babe! You’ve got the hardest working liver in the west!”

 

“Fuck, _urp_ , fuck yeah I do.” Rick leaned across the table, smirking at the beaten ghost. “T-time to hold up your end, _pinche gringo_.”

 

“Alright, fair’s fair.” Jimmy snapped his fingers and Stan was instantly released.

 

He rubbed his sore arms, taking the time to flip the spirit off. Then, ecstatic at his partner’s victory, he strode over and gave Rick a bruising kiss that lasted obscenely long. When he finally pulled away Stan slung an arm around Rick’s shoulder, glancing over at Jimmy with a  spiteful grin.

 

“Well, it was fun catching up with you, Jimmy, but we got places to be. Can’t leave my brother waiting, after all.”

 

Rick pushed himself up from the table, Stan holding him steady when he started to titter backwards. When the wave of dizziness abated Rick gave Jimmy one last condescending smirk before turning around, fully intend on sauntering out of the saloon with his partner in tow.

 

There was a familiar snap, and suddenly the spirits were surrounding them. Their ethereal faces had melted off the bone, revealing rotten corpses. A few reached out and grabbed Rick before he could react. Stan spun back to face Jimmy, barely noticing that both he and Marilyn hadn’t changed.

 

“What is this, Jimmy? You said if Rick won we could leave.”

 

“Actually, kitten, I said if he won _you_ could leave. Never said anything about him.”

 

Stan lunged at the ghost, letting out a wild howl. Undead hands pulled him back before he got far, however. He flailed against their bony grip but they held on strong.

 

Ignoring the curses Stan flung his way, Jimmy rose to his feet with a chuckle. He brushed past Marilyn who at least seemed ashamed at the trickery.

 

“Like I told you earlier, kitten, ain’t no man innocent who partners up with you.” Jimmy cast a glance over his shoulder. “Or woman, eh Marilyn?”

 

Without a word she walked to the far wall and reclaimed her seat next to the piano man. He started up another song, this one slow as a funeral march.

 

Tsking, Jimmy shook his head as he slowly turned back to Stan. He grabbed Stan’s chin none-too-gently.

 

“Now, kitten, I’m gonna put on a little show for ya! I’m gonna let you go on your merry, heartbreaking way, don’t you worry. But first I’ll let you witness your new man’s last few moments alive. If you’re a good boy I’ll even let you give him a kiss goodbye.”

 

Stan spat on him, his aim flying true as it got Jimmy right in the eye. Jimmy let go of him and wiped the spit away. Then he backhanded him with a frightening force. Pain erupted across Stan’s face and he saw stars.

 

“Never were very good at following orders, were you?”

 

Jimmy set his sights on Rick. The other man hung in the skeletal hands all over him, drunk and seething. He watched the loathsome ghoul approach and stop in front of him.

 

“W-well, what are you waiting for, motherfucker?” Rick demanded when the ghost just stood there. “Fucking go ahead and kill me.”

 

“You’re the zealous type, ain’tcha?” Jimmy chuckled. 

 

Jimmy raised his hand and Rick braced for an incoming fist. It didn’t come, however. Instead he placed his open palm on Rick’s chest.

 

A sudden chill enveloped Rick. He could feel his blood freeze in his veins and his breath actually leave his body. Or maybe it wasn’t his breath at all, he mused dimly before he couldn’t think anymore. 

 

“What are you doing to him? Stop it!” Stan hollered.

 

Jimmy’s hand glowed with an otherworldly light as Rick’s eyes grew dim, vacant. It was like Jimmy was draining the very life out of him. 

 

He let out that deep, sadistic laugh of his that still haunted Stan’s dreams. His eyes were drawn to Jimmy’s face. He recoiled at the sight—it had sunken in like a corpse and part of his cheek was hanging off the bone. 

 

“Bastardly, no good, son of a bitch!” Stan screamed, thrashing against his captors. There were tears pooling in his eyes, from strain or rage or fear he didn’t know.

 

With all the strength he could muster Stan pulled his head down them rammed it back against one of his captor’s skull. He heard a crack and briefly wondered which one it was from—him or the dead man. There was no time to dwell, however, as he felt one set of ghostly hands loosen enough for him to shake them off.

 

Jimmy was so intent on Rick that he wasn’t paying Stan any mind. Stan took advantage of this, gleefully ripping himself free from the first dead man and slamming his elbow into another all in one swift motion. This one stumbled back, losing his grip on Stan.

 

Other spirits clambered to reclaim him, but Stan pushed their bony hands away and ran straight for Jimmy. He tackled his old partner, and they landed hard on the rickety floor. Stan got in two good punches before Jimmy shoved him off.

 

Before Stan could scramble up a boot connected with the side of his head. The room swam. 

 

“You can’t just leave things well enough alone, can you, kitten?” Jimmy tutted.

 

Stan looked up at him, willing his vision to steady. Jimmy had gotten to his feet and loomed above him now. His face was shadowed from this angle, and all Stan could make out were those burning red eyes. 

 

Jimmy crossed the short distance between them. Stan was halfway up, but Jimmy pressed the sole of his boot against his chest and pushed Stan flat on his back. He leaned down, grinning liking a hungry animal.

 

“You like this shack so much you can share his fate.”

 

Stan caught a glimmer in the corner of his eye as Jimmy reached for his chest. Then there was a loud shatter as Marilyn brought the bottle down on Jimmy’s head. He stumbled back and Stan hurried to his feet. 

 

“Really, Marilyn?” Jimmy asked, slowly turning to her. She gave a self depreciating smile.

 

“I owe Stanley this, at least. Besides, I never did like you, Jimmy.”

 

“Feeling’s mutual.”

 

He struck out lightning fast, smacking her hard across the face. Stan made a move to help, but she was already slashing at him with the broken bottle. Figuring Marilyn could handle herself for a minute he focused on Rick.

 

He looked pretty bad. His eyes were drooped, and Stan doubted anything was registering in that brain of his right now. The only thing keeping Rick up were the skeleton hands that had ahold of him. 

 

“Don’t worry, babe, we’re getting out of this,” Stan assured, cracking his knuckles. “Alright, you undead freaks, let’s rumble!”

 

Two of the dead men charged at Stan. He side-stepped out of the way, and before they could round on him he punched the closest one where a kidney would be if he was fighting a living man. Being skeletons, however, his knuckles collided with bone. 

 

Stan let out an exclamation of pain, drawing his hand back to wave off the sting. Then something was grabbing his shoulders and he spun around, knocking the skeletal arm away. 

 

“Ever hear of personal space, buddy?” 

 

The other two walking corpses grabbed him from behind. Stan struggled in their grasp. They held on tight, though, and he glared at the rest of the dead men as they approached slowly, circling him. 

 

Stan waited with gritted teeth for a corpse to get close enough. When one did he kicked the undead abomination right in the groin, knocking him back into several others.

 

He tore free from his captors, grabbing an arm and flipping the dead man it belonged to over his shoulder. To his surprise it snapped off.

 

“Yeesh. Get ahold of yourself, buddy.”

 

More dead men were reaching for him and he struck out with the severed arm. A few jumped back, but the ones flanking him kept on coming. He swung the impromptu weapon in a circle around him, slowly inching towards his partner. 

 

He brought it down on one of his captor’s skulls, and there was a tremendous crack. The dead man crumbled, nearly taking Rick with him. The other one managed to keep him upright, though it seemed to require too much effort to last long.

 

Stan threw the broken arm at the rest of the dead and grabbed Rick by the waist. With one good hard yank he actually managed to wrest him out of the bony grasp. 

 

The victory was short lived. 

 

He was being pulled back, and in a panic he tried to shake Rick awake. No response. The dead men tried to pull them apart but he held on with a mix of adrenaline and desperation. 

 

“You bastard, wake up! I’m not letting us die here!”

 

“It’s almost funny how you think you get any say in that.”

 

Everyone stilled. Stan slowly craned his neck back. Jimmy’s red eyes were focused dangerously on him. Behind his hulking figure he spotted Marilyn finally looking the part of a  dead woman. He quickly turned back to Jimmy, unable to stomach the sight and unable to tell if she was only hurt or officially dead.

 

“You’re a no good, yellow-bellied coward!” Stan spat.

 

Jimmy shook, then let out a thunderous guffaw. Stan winced at the sound. When his laughter died down he crossed the short distance between them, boots stomping ominously on the old wood floor, and leaned down so he was just a finger width from Stan’s face.

 

“It’s funny hearing you of all people call me a coward. You didn’t even do anything to stop my hangin’.”

 

Stan held his gaze as he told Jimmy, “You deserved it.”

 

Before he even realized Jimmy had moved, Rick was torn from his grasp and tossed aside like a rag doll. Then his hands were around Stan’s neck.

 

At first he only applied enough pressure to keep Stan trapped. He tried to push Jimmy away but it was no use. In life he had been strong, and death had done him nothing but favors.

 

Jimmy chuckled, squeezing tighter. His thumbs pressed against his esophagus and soon Stan was fighting for breath. 

 

“What’s the matter, kitten? Got nothing else smart to say?” Stan tried to reply, but all that came out was a pitiful croak. Jimmy smirked. “You know, I think you’re finally learning your place.”

 

His vision was blurring, and Stan knew he wouldn’t survive much more. He glanced away from Jimmy, not wanting that hateful visage to be the last thing he ever saw. 

 

Maybe it was a trick or hallucination, but Stan caught a blue glow from behind Jimmy. Then Jimmy doubled over and the hands around his neck fell away.

 

Rick was there, and his mouth was moving. There was an intense ringing in Stan’s ears, however, and he couldn’t make the words out. Stan gave him a faint smile as he succumbed to the darkness.

 

“Lee!”

 

Rick reached out for Stan as he crumpled to the ground. Jimmy was already back on his feet, though, and grabbed his wrist hard enough to bruise.

 

“I see that two-bit bitch fixed ya up, buckaroo,” Jimmy spat, side-eying Marilyn.

 

It looked like just sitting was too much effort for her. She forced herself up, however, and stood on shaky, rotting feet. Staring Jimmy straight in the eye she said, “You take care of this blowhard, Rick. I’ll keep Stanley safe.”

 

“My f-fucking _pleasure_.”

 

Rick swung his fist, catching Jimmy across the face. It stung where they’d connected, but Rick could ignore the pain; he felt the strange energy Marilyn had fed him, healing the damage that Jimmy had done and filling him up with adrenaline. He was ready to kick this dead man’s ass.

 

First he needed to get Jimmy well away from Stan. He waited for Jimmy to throw a punch his way, jumping back before it landed. Jimmy clenched his jaw and kept coming at Rick. Rick kept gradually retreating, managing to dodge every blow; he couldn’t get his own in, though.

 

Jimmy stopped and whistled. Suddenly the last of the spirits swarmed Rick. Back against the wall, Rick spared a glanced towards Stan. Marilyn had made her way to him and was imbuing Stan with the same energy she’d given Rick.

 

Rick brought his leg up as far as he could and smashed his boot into the nearest one’s abdomen, sending the dead man stumbling into several others. Then he planted his open palm on the spirit’s chest and concentrated. Marilyn had told him it was a matter of will, and true to her word Rick sucked the energy from the dead man like Jimmy had tried to do to him. He sucked the spirit dry until he was nothing but a husk that fell to the floor lifeless. Then the shriveled thing crumbled into dust.

 

A glance up showed that Jimmy wasn’t happy. Rick smirked at his scowl.

 

——

 

Stan’s head throbbed like it and been kicked in. His neck felt heavy, too, making every deep breath uncomfortable. For a moment he wondered what happened, then images of Jimmy flashed through his mind and his eyes shot open.

 

To his surprise he was half in Marilyn’s lap. She looked ready to fall over dead for a second time. 

 

She held a finger to his mouth before he could form a single question. There was a commotion going on and his eyes roamed over to the other side of the saloon. Rick was battling against the undead by himself.

 

Stan jerked up, intent on helping his partner. Marilyn held him firm, however.

 

“Wait,” she told him, placing her hand in the middle of his chest. He looked down at the spot as he felt a tingling sensation and saw it glow blue. “It’s not much, but it’ll be enough to take Jimmy down if you work together. Just follow Rick’s lead, he knows what to do.”

 

“Marilyn,” Stan murmured, gazing into her sad, sunken eyes. 

 

The woman sighed and gently pushed him off her lap. Stan gave her a grateful smile then raced to the ongoing fight.

 

He barreled into Jimmy, sending them both careening to the floor. He slammed his elbow  down on the back of Jimmy’s head. It must have hurt, judging by the ghoul’s strained grunt, but it didn’t stop him from bucking Stan off.

 

Stan sprung to his feet and joined Rick. He was grappling with the three remaining ghost goons, and it looked like they were about to get the upper hand. Stan tore one away from Rick. Jimmy was pushing himself up so Stan tossed the spirit at him, knocking Jimmy back down.

 

“I think this is our wildest bar fight yet,” he quipped, punching another ghost.

 

“Yee-yup. About, _urp_ , about time we finish this.”

 

“Fine by me.”

 

Rick pushed his opponent against the wall and sucked him dry, explaining to Stan what to do. The other man nodded. He gripped the second goon around the neck, cringing at the memory of Jimmy’s hands around his own. Shoving that thought away quickly he followed Rick’s instructions. Soon the spirit was dust.

 

Together they turned to Jimmy who was draining the last one himself. He fixed them with a steely gaze.

 

“I got right,” Stan said. Rick nodded.

 

They zipped to their chosen sides. When one struck out at the ghoul so did the other. Jimmy couldn’t focus on them both at once, and soon he let out a deep, unearthly growl.

 

“You will not take my revenge from me, too, Stanley!” Jimmy boomed.

 

He made a grab for Rick, ending up with a handful of his jacket instead. A hard yank sent Rick tumbling to the floor. Jimmy brought his foot up, intent on stomping on Rick’s skull. But then Stan broke a chair against his back.

 

Jimmy spun around with his fist at the ready, catching Stan across the face. He tasted the familiar tinge of blood and spat on the ghoul. Without bothering to wipe it off Jimmy lurched at him. He tried to knock Stan to the ground, but Stan fought to stay standing.

 

Rick jumped up on Jimmy, locking his arm around the spirit’s neck. They grappled for a minute, no one quite getting the upper hand, and soon all of them went crashing down.

 

Before Jimmy could react Rick and Stan pressed their open palms to his chest. He was a different sort of dead man than his goons had been, more powerful. Jimmy writhed beneath them but the pair held strong as they drained him of the dark magic keeping him there.

 

“This isn’t the end, Stan,” the ghoul promised, fire in his eyes flickering. “One day you’ll leave this mortal coil, and when you cross into the world of the dead—you’re both mine.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan brushed off, “I’ll put it on your tombstone.”

 

Jimmy let out terrible howls unlike any beast either men had ever encountered before. His body shifted, the last remnants of a living man quickly evaporating, and the scent of decay filled the air. 

 

Then Jimmy Snakes was dust in their hands. 

 

The saloon began to shake around them, threatening to come down. They quickly got to their feet and raced towards the door.

 

“Marilyn!” Stan exclaimed, suddenly stopping. 

 

Rick grabbed his arm urging, “C-come on, Lee! She is literally dead already, the-there’s nothing you can do!”

 

Even as Rick drug him to the exit his gaze swept across the shaking room. Finally they landed on the piano player whose fingers had never stopped hitting those keys. Marilyn was sitting next to him, eyes half-lidded and mouth forming a small smile. 

 

There was an insistent tug from Rick and Stan followed him out just as the ceiling caved in.

 

They raced to their jittery horses and quickly untied them. Rick’s stallion was too spooked, however, and ran off as soon as it was freed. Not wasting any more time, Stan helped Rick up behind him and they rode out of the crumbling ghost town.

 

When they were some ways off a laugh bubbled out of Stan, wild and tired. He couldn’t stop, especially when it proved contagious. The pair laughed so hard they almost fell off the horse.

 

“Y-you have a real knack for attracting bad company, Lee,” Rick commented after they’d calmed down.

 

“Why do ya think I ride with you?”

 

Rick snorted, laying his chin on the crook of Stan’s shoulder. Stan reached back for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

 

“Sixer’s gonna be made he missed this. Fidds’ll probably be glad.”

 

“Ah-after we meet up with them you and I are, are getting off this planet. Space is less crazy than this.”

 

“And no one up there wants to kill me.”

 

“Yet.”

 

The couple shared another laugh. Stan spared a glance back; there was no sign of the town. He grinned and, twisting around in the saddle, pressed his lips to Rick’s.


End file.
